The Rat
by The6thAnon
Summary: AU: Chell is dead, GLaDOS is devastated, and the facility is empty. Rattmann can come and go as he pleases, but he has only one thing on his mind—getting his companion back.
1. Not Yet

A/N: Hey everyone! If you're curious about how the events of this fanfic came to be and you like Doctor Who, feel free to check the main storyline behind this spin-off. The story that came before this is called "Lab Wolf"-that's where all the "Void Ship Saga" stuff comes from.

If you don't like Doctor Who and just want to read some good-old-fashioned Portal fanfiction, don't worry! **There is absolutely no Doctor Who content in this fic**.

As usual, thanks for your support, test subjects!

* * *

Chell was dead. The whole facility reeked of loss, with the shadows a little darker and the lights a little shakier. Doug could feel the heaviness seep from the rafters of the test chamber, and he wanted out. GLaDOS's despondency was beginning to weigh on him, and he refused to let himself get tied up with Aperture Science's problems again.

He headed to the door of the test chamber and found that it opened for him. He stepped through the door gingerly, expecting a trap. He had no Portal Gun, no special boots—he was utterly underdressed for an excursion through the facility, but he wasn't harmed. There were no turrets or spike plates lying in wait. GLaDOS was mourning Chell's death. For now, testing was over.

Doug Rattmann wasn't one to question these things. All this time he had warned his coworkers what a horrible idea imitating human consciousness was. It was bound to go wrong. And where had it gotten him? After all the ridicule and exasperation?

"Freedom," he answered himself grimly. He was in front of an elevator, and he knew where it led. Doug pressed the up button and let himself be carried to the surface.

The survivor stood in the open air. At first, he couldn't feel anything—just the brightness of the daylight stinging his eyes. He could barely remember what open air had meant to him before he got trapped, but it felt lonely now. The sun was warm, the wind cooling, and all he could think about was what his cube would say to him if he had the chance.


	2. The Deal

Doug stood in front of Chell's body. It was exactly where he remembered it, but he didn't care to think about how she got there at all. It was much too complicated…and much too unnecessary. Chell belonged in a greater story, one with simplicity winning over corruption. He looked away. Doug doubted there was anyone outside the facility who cared to remember her. All GLaDOS did was ignore the test chambers that had seen Chell alive as if trying to preserve some grandiose memory. She reminded Doug of the scientists who created her—both were simply delusional.

_What a maniac_, Doug thought. _She can't stand that she didn't kill Chell herself_.

But Doug knew about not being able to stand himself. He couldn't protect Chell—and how he wished he'd tried harder!—so he'd do the one last act of guardianship he could.

"You have a choice, GLaDOS," Doug said, almost practiced in his precision. The words passed through his mouth like steam, and he let them fade. It was satisfying to talk directly to her after months of whispers and hiding. "You can give me my cube now, or I can take it from you." He took quiet steps toward the camera, but he imagined his movement sent reverberations through GLaDOS's computers. He wanted the static messy, the chambers out of focus.

_Let her feel panic for once. Let the rules of her trusted science crumble under the weight of my voice_. He stood directly below the camera and looked up as high as his neck would allow. He'd kept his fury smothered under fear, but hope, Chell's hope, had pulled the cover away, and here he was, sticky, boiling, smoldering power rushing through arms and crashing against his knuckles.

When GLaDOS finally spoke, her voice fell through the intercom unprotected. It was flat, disinterested like a folded grocery store list.

"You can't have your cube back."

"And why not?" He let go of the energy holding him muscles taut and unclenched his fists. "What've you done with him?"  
"A companion cube is not my concern, Mr. Rattmann. I have a facility to rebuild."  
"Around what? Everything you worked for is dead." The red light in the camera focused on him. The swiveling noise of the hinges was enough to make Doug take a step back. He might be a fighter now, but nothing could erase his fear of being watched.

"Science will never die, _Rat_." Her voice coiled around the word and threw it to the ground like a candy wrapper. "You'll be my next test subject if I require it."

"How about that, then? I'll be your test subject for a bit, and then you give me my cube back." Doug sat on the floor and rubbed his hands over the smooth, speckled tiles. Chell was gone. He was no Chell, but Doug had been around her long enough to understand how to beat the tests.

"Very well." Doug got up and faltered. He laughed to himself. His first step as a test subject and he was already shaky. "I will give you six trials, test subject. If you can get through all of them, you'll get your companion back."  
"Not just any companion," Doug specified. "It has to be him."

"Oh, you'll get your precious little cube _back_, Rat. If you can get through the facility alive."

"What are you gonna test, anyway? Your hypothesis failed.

"Not…failed. It was just…inconclusive." She sounded like herself again. The no-nonsense voice of a data collector was back to haunt him. "And don't worry. I'll think of something. I always do."

The door at the end of the chamber opened. Doug pushed away from the wall and walked to the elevator. He was no test subject, but he was a scientist. Maybe he had enough in common with GLaDOS that he'd be able to make it out of here alive.


	3. Repairs

"Welcome to your first test." Doug skittered from the elevator, hunched over from the invisible weight of his cube. He was so used to carrying his friend, so used to wrapping his hands around the ropes that reminded him he wasn't alone that the absence left his back bent with the ghost of a box and his fingers forever opening and closing. He clenched his fists and straightened up. The sooner he was done with the tasks, the sooner he could hug his cube again.

"What do you want?" he asked, his words dried of emotion. GLaDOS kept him waiting for a full day before she released him into the first chamber. He tried pacing, pushups, plain old thinking, but nothing worked as a distraction for more than a few moments. GLaDOS gave him plenty of idle time. What she didn't give him was paint. He itched to draw a mural of Chell's soul in peace or to give his companion a halo on a wall.

"Fix them." GLaDOS snatched him from his thoughts and released a toolbox and three mangled turrets from a compartment in the ceiling. "You have the next hour to repair these turrets. Don't let them kill you."

Doug watched the turrets' shadows cautiously, his eyes narrowed for the telltale twitch of a robot playing dead. When a minute rounded the clock and disappeared, Doug made a beeline for the toolbox. He turned it over, emptying the red and black box of its contents, and found a screwdriver amidst the broken appliances.

"Now you stay, you hear?" He said gruffly to the first turret. He popped the screws out of the scuffed metal and got to work on the wires. He'd seen prototypes of this thing, all gleaming metal and candy button eyes. They'd been so _proud _to get it working—even gave it a child's voice. It was their little pet, their precious creation. Doug shook his head. His coworkers had always been keen on violence, but this, this…perversity of a gun just solidified his distrust of the whole operation. He was about to quit, too, when the boundaries between AI and real intelligence crumbled.

His hand cramped, and he dropped the turret. Its light flickered on, and it shakily stood up.

"Hello?" Doug watched it. It faced away from him, casting a red glow onto the wall. "Is anyone there?" Doug considered running, but he walked up to it instead. "Did you repair me?"

"Yes." The turret crept up to him. It laid a metal claw on his leg.

"Then you are my savior?"

"…Yes?"

"Do you have a task for me?" Doug blinked in confusion before going along with it.

"Now what I want you to do is—" He stopped himself. _This turret isn't my cube. It's not anything. It's a tool GLaDOS uses to kill_. He looked at it. It was the closest he'd get to innocence in this place. _Screw it. It likes me._

"I want you to guard these tools, OK? Keep them safe. And tell your friends to keep their bullets out o' me." The turret blinked and focused on the screwdrivers. Doug shook his head. He was silent, mostly, liked to keep to himself. But the objects in this facility seemed to call to him and open him up like a computer panel.

"It's time to fix up your buddies, eh?" He smiled at the turret studiously staring at the tools. A cold wave of understanding washed over him; they were _built _to follow directions. He might as well be a murderer.

_You're here to get him back. Don't forget it_. His face pursed in a mask of grim resolve, Doug opened up the other two turrets and fixed them as quickly as his hands would allow. He was out of practice, his calloused fingers barely registering the nerve endings sensitive enough to feel the difference in the paneling, but he gave it his best try.

"Finished," he called to the ceiling. He set the three of them up in a row and stood up. "I'm done, GLaDOS."

"Well done," she drawled. "Pity I only need two turrets. Which one should I get rid of?" Doug lunged toward the first one he fixed, but the tile underneath it swung on its hinge, and the weapon fell into the pit below. He watched in disbelief as GLaDOS's remote control claw herded the remaining turrets into another room.

"It was scared of you. It was scared of you and it _trusted me_!"

"Then you should've done a better job of protecting it. You wouldn't even be here at all if you weren't so forgetful, Rat." Doug flinched. "Put on a jumpsuit," GLaDOS ordered. Doug walked through the doors and into a changing room, but he ignored the orange clothing and smoothed down his lab coat.

"I'm a scientist, not one of your imprisoned test subjects. I watched your birth. Don't forget that." GLaDOS opened the doors to the next chamber without a word. Doug was glad.

_That's right, shut up. Don't go bothering me now, AI. I've got work to do_.


	4. Respect Me

Doug sat on the floor of the test chamber and waited for instructions. He kept his legs crossed like a child's, and he joined his fingers and separated them to pass the time. Together, apart. Together, apart.

"What's my task, GLaDOS?" He called out. The thought that she just wasn't paying attention flitted across his mind, but the crackle of a speaker gave her away. GLaDOS was here, listening.

He chuckled dryly. With the illusion of isolation, the prospect of spending time alone with his thoughts might've been a challenge, but once he knew she was watching, the danger evaporated. This was just another test with a set hypothesis and end time.

That's what he'd like to think, at least.

He lay on his stomach, staring at the lines on the floor. The longer he ignored them, the more the prospects of the test genuinely scared him—he'd seen his thoughts, felt them rage and clamp themselves around his wrists like puppet strings—and he didn't want any extra time with them.

He pushed his hands together firmly. He guessed that GLaDOS wanted a little fear hardwired into his system; he'd seen enough of her inner workings to know what she liked. But he would break the circuit and make her understand that respect was to be earned.

He tore a button off his shirt and traced the cube's likeness into the floor with strong, messy strokes. By morning, he hoped, the drawing would be permanently engraved. He smiled at the thought of his friend and wondered if GLaDOS could feel the damage to her test chamber just as he would feel a paper cut or an ant's legs ghosting across his skin. He closed his eyes and hoped she would.

He fell asleep against a corner of the test chamber, legs bent in a crouch as if he were praying. He muttered and turned; there were specters in his sleep. A cube shrunk in the distance and a large yellow eye kept him paralyzed, watching, _wanting_—

Doug woke up with a gasp. He gathered himself and squinted into the artificial light. Sleep was forgivable—crying out over something as small as a nightmare was not. He was prey in here, small enough to scamper but not big enough to see the monster that cast the shadow over him.

But there were benefits of being prey. They were replaceable, forgettable. If he could survive these tests, he'd be able to step outside, unnoticed, with the friend he'd been too careless to protect.

His head reeled and he turned to the carving he'd made on the floor. He knew his cube wouldn't want him to blame himself. It would sit still, resolutely silent until Doug had reclaimed the self-respect that hung around him like forgotten streamers at a New Year's party. It wasn't much, what he had left, but it was hard to take away once he'd dampened it with his own determination.

Doug knew he wanted his cube back, but he'd gotten better at being completely alone. _Needed_ was a bit too strong. Doug smiled sadly. There was a comfort in dependency. He knew he was better off being able to take care of himself, but childishness still roamed within him. He couldn't let go of the only thing that made him human. It was all he had from before the incident.

He fished the button from the folds of his coat and scratched a stick figure beside his cube.

"That's me," he whispered, his voice raspy from the strain of his nightmare. "We're together."

He fell asleep again, exhausted by the prospect of facing the glaring lights of the test chamber, and slept without interruption until the next day. GLaDOS's halfheartedly watched him as he rested, her focus switching between empty test chambers and reports before flicking back to him.

"Respect me, Test Subject," she muttered more to herself than to him. She zoomed in on the man, waiting for him to fight a nightmare, but the twitches never came. Neither of them liked it, but he was used to being here. GLaDOS's mere presence couldn't act as a fresh scare, and that made things— "Interesting," GLaDOS commented. "You can handle me, but how long can you live with yourself, Rat?" She activated a few controls and prepared the next test. _This one_, she thought. _Yes, this will make him forget how to be good. _


	5. Voices in Your Chest

Doug followed GLaDOS's instructions as he moved through the chambers. He looked through the cracks in the ceiling as he walked. The floor was the same throughout the entire facility, but looking up was like looking at sky in a weather tower. Sometime he could see the forces behind the madness swirling and clanking, but other times, the mystery was obscured in a haze. He saw fog this time, thick, cottony air lumbering meters about his head.

"Careful. Don't fall off." Doug stopped. The tips of his shoes careened over a bridge. Like seemingly everything else in this wing, it was unnecessarily dangerous, rusting at its edges, the panels that should hold railing bare and dented.

They say not to look down if you're afraid of heights, but Doug bent his neck for the entire length of the bridge. He could catch snippets of fires beneath the cross-stitched metal. If he strained his ears, screams floated through his consciousness and came out without leaving a mark. He'd tried before; he could never understand a word.

He stopped in front of a room lined with meshed wire fencing. At GLaDOS's signal, the walls slid downwards and revealed rows of cages. Inside the prisons were personality cores, piled ungraciously against the wiring. Some bounced, hyperactive, reverberating against the cage. Others pressed themselves into the corners and blinked their eyes more than necessary, while the rest failed to move. Doug couldn't tell if they were deactivated or just tired.

He took a few steps toward the cages. The cores unanimously rolled themselves back in an effort to get away. He closed his outstretched hand. _It was the lab coat, _he thought briefly to himself. _They've never seen one since the incident. _

"You will speak to three of these cores. Hand chosen by me," she added idly. Doug swallowed. The sheer mess of the situation—the humanity within these metal spheres locked off and abandoned. The details of his plight dampened under the weight of all the personalities bundled in such tight quarters.

He knelt on the tile and waited. He tried counting seconds, but before he got to sixty or even thirty, a trapdoor a meter from his feet slid open. A claw pushed a core unceremoniously a foot from the opening and retreated. It clanked against the edge of the trapdoor before the panel slid closed with a final thud. He crawled toward the core. It rolled itself over and slanted its eye at him.

"Hello?" He asked. His voice came out choked, scratching against the hollows of his cheeks before sputtering on the cold tiles. "Hello?" He didn't know what else to say to it.

"What if it won't talk?" He asked GLaDOS.

"Oh, it will. It'll hear what_ever _you say."

"Help me," the core rasped.

"What will you tell it, rat?" He inched closer to the core. He reached out to touch it, but his hands shook before he could lower them on the Aperture logo. The core shook itself, and Doug caught a glimpse of a number.

_It's a test subject_, he realized with sudden dread.

"Help me," it pleaded again, its voice higher and louder. "Help…"

"And what will you tell it? That it's _dead?_"

"No…" Doug muttered. He forced himself to hold onto the core, but it made no difference—the subject rattled inside its metal cage. Its eye flicked wildly from corner to corner of the room, the lens on the iris oscillating between maximum focus and a loss of perception.

GLaDOS had done a masterful job of making the room seem more cramped then it was. The core had plenty of space to examine or roll around in, but it felt like they inhabited a cell with just a few centimeters to spare.

"Help me," the core said, defeated. With that, it combusted. Doug watched in resigned horror as the spectacle played out in front of him. He didn't touch the ash once the core had disappeared entirely. Instead he stood up and faced the camera.

"Give me the next one." He spoke quietly, traces of empathy flickering in and out between his words. The metal claw returned. It squeezed two cores together. Only one of them was moving.

"Oh," GLaDOS said in a pantomime of actual regret. "Looks like this one's broken." The claw dropped the dented core on the floor and Doug stared down at it. He nudged it with his foot. Its eye was closed, at least, and the paint that once identified it had scratched beyond recognition. "You're lucky it wasn't this one," she prattled on. The core last dropped to the ground as the remains of the first two were taken away. He barely registered its sound; there was something oddly familiar about the pink aura that shadowed the sphere. It shivered before swiveling to see him. At once, it recognized him.

The core stopped rattling as Doug got closer. He barely hesitated before placing his hand on the top of the core.

"You burnt me," it said quietly.

"I know," he said back, his eyes prickling with the beginnings of tears. "I'm sorry."

"You had to." The core's voice was sweet, soothing—it was the most comforting sound he had heard since his coworkers had announced the meaning of their newest project. His shoulders slumped and he realized how tense he'd been, fighting off his own inner voices while at the same time hungering for company.

"I forgive you," the core added, and with that simple, pure declaration, Doug let go. He clutched the sphere to his chest, sobbing.

"My cube. My first cube." Flashes of his time as an employed scientist played before his eyes—pitching the idea of the companion cube before a team of glassy-eyed scientists, a prototype barely bigger than a toy car balanced in his hand, testing the cube against the elements and watching it fail.

He gave the cube a final pat and stood up.

"I've been granted forgiveness, GLaDOS," he told the wall, his words slightly shaky. He crouched over the core and undid its outer shell with swift fingers. "You tried. You tried so hard to make me feel _impeccably _alone. But you failed." He set his mouth in a hard line as he dropped the core's data into one of his coat pockets. It didn't make a sound against the thin, white fabric, but he could feel it there, radiating its essence despite the trials it had been put through.

"You've given me back my humanity, GLaDOS." He bunched his fingers in the pockets of his lab coat. "I'm not letting it go again."


End file.
